Where Others Fear to Tread
by AmputeeTrainee
Summary: Brought back from death by mistake, Kakuzu is forced to face the reality of absolute defeat. Stripped of his health, Akatsuki rank and fortune, he must salvage what he can. Promised a reward for returning Hidan's ring, Kakuzu begins to dig to rescue the man he loathes the most. (Summary continued inside. Rated for violence, gore, language and sexual situations.)
1. Prologue

As he lay dying in the dirt, Kakuzu swore he heard the roar of a mighty waterfall. The thundering waters seemed to rage through his very frame and reverberate in the chamber of his skull. The sound had to be a figment; such a work of nature was impossible in the dry, towering woods of the Land of Fire. Yet, the thrum was so similar to the great falls of his long-scorned homeland, he momentarily felt adrift in the ancient waters of his youth, head sinking under the rushing current.

He was a drowning. Lungs crushed by the Jinchuuriki boy's assault. The Rasengan's deadly vortex of energy had wreaked incredible damage, shredding through the thread, flesh and bone of his back. Kakuzu's fingers clawed uselessly at dust, throat clicking in vain to draw air.

'_I can't breathe_.'

Needle-thin threads wormed into the spongy pleura of flattened lungs, following in the path of capillaries, and hooked into the soft sheet of his diaphragm. Once anchored, the tendrils gently pulled and Kakuzu drew a choking gasp. With guidance, the lungs expanded and contracted; now forever reliant on the thread until he breathed his last.

The Jiongu, millions of tiny threads woven throughout his body, twisted beneath flesh in anguish. They oozed sluggishly out of the jagged hole the boy had carved and wriggled like long, black snakes over his mangled back, mapping the wound by touch. Through their shared link, Kakuzu learned of his missing hearts, cracked vertebra and sheered ribs. Tendrils twisted in his gut, floundering in the wake of the devastation. He could breathe, but no more.

A heart beat feebly against his ribs. Perhaps it was the source of the roaring in his ears and not the raging of water. The endless surge was the pounding of his last true heart in his ears.

Feet slapped against the dirt before him. Eyes flicked upward expecting to see the Kyuubi vessel. Obviously the boy would want to gloat and spew some moral prattle. Konoha shinobi were full of honorable nonsense. Yet, he was not met with silted gaze of the boy, but with the one-eyed stare of Kakashi Hatake.

Fury bubbled in the pit of his stomach. Kakuzu wished with all his might to lash out at the younger man. Long, thick coils skittered across his back at the shinobi's approach. The Jiongu slapped mindlessly in the dust, sensing danger but ultimately blind; too chakra starved and reeling from the last assault to attack. The threads were taxed enough with the rhythm of breathing. Seething, Kakuzu found he didn't have the strength to stitch his split face together now. Yet, the threads could still form garbled words.

"For me to be beaten by kids like you," Kakuzu muttered between wheezing breaths.

Hatake stopped an arm's length away as an inky, black tendril brushed his toe.

"However, from our viewpoint you're just a crazy old man." Hatake lectured and then shrugged. "Well, to someone who fought the First Hokage, I guess we do look like kids."

The words sounded so soft as if the man were speaking from a long, long distance away. He could clearly see Hatake's feet although they wavered like a mirage in the summer heat. Mustering the last of his strength, Kakuzu lifted his head. Even as the world blurred in brilliant halos of light, he gazed defiantly up at Hatake.

'_I hope I haunt you_,' he thought, imagining the black mass of insides slithering out of his seam-ripped back. '_Behold the price of ambition_.'

Still, glancing at the scarred lid that concealed a blood-red eye, he figured the younger man already knew something about the cost of life.

"Thus, here you lay in the dirt," Hatake continued, as electricity crackled to life around his fist. "And now your time to die has come."

The Chidori sizzled, spitting blue sparks into the air. The deafening rumble of the waterfall resounded again. Blood thundered through his ears. Faintly in the distance, Kakuzu could hear the song of a thousand birds."The next generation will always surpass the previous one; it's one of the never-ending cycles in life," Hatake said above the roar.

In a flash, the Chidori sliced through Kakuzu's open back and struck his last heart. The acidic scent of burnt hair filled his nostrils, and then he heard no more. The churning waters stopped and the birds fell silent. In his last moment as the Jiongu spasmed in his chest, Kakuzu thought—_I don't want to die_. And despite the Jiongu's urging death-throes, the world fell away into darkness.


	2. Chapter I: It's Alive

Mistakes shaped history; a fact all seasoned shinobi understood. Survival stemmed from gaining the upper hand and exploiting a moment of weakness. A person, army or village was only as powerful as their weakest link. Mistakes made the world, but it was human vanity that wrote the history books. When he woke, yanked from the cold grasp of death to the sound of screams, Kakuzu knew instantly what brought him back. It wasn't luck, benevolence or a godly power. No, someone had made a mistake.

White light blazed blindingly from above. He blinked, gradually coming to consciousness. The world around him spun in a dizzying kaleidoscope of white, black and red. Despite the bright light, the room was frigid and smelled strongly of antiseptic.

The screaming grew louder, penetrating and impossible to ignore. In his peripheral vision, white-clad figures faded in and out. They blended together in their panic, becoming one blurred mass as they fought off a sinewy, black shadow.

He tried to breathe. On his own strength, the flattened lungs barely drew more than a swallow of air. Pain shot through his chest like a lance. Stirred by the growing awareness, tendrils skittered over the smooth cold surface beneath him. Anguish was inescapable. Every flinch brought new agony. Kakuzu drew a shallow breath and tried to stretch his body on impulse. A finger twitched. His big toe wiggled. The sting of a thousand phantom needles prickled over cold flesh. Another breath, but pitifully shallow. He tried again to force himself to move. Neck vertebrae popping, Kakuzu titled his head toward the sound of the commotion.

Vision clearing, he watched as two medics attempted to subdue one of their colleagues on the next metal gurney. The way the captive woman thrashed, bucking until her head banged in hollow rhythm against the steel bed, made the job nearly impossible. The men scrambled to hold her jerking limbs down while a third tried to sever the writhing mass around her hand with a chakra scalpel.

No matter how many tendrils the medic cut, more swarmed as they lazily poured out of Kakuzu's gaping chest. Growing desperate, the medic tried to yank the invading strings out. The woman wailed as the man managed to come away with a black, squirming bundle in his hand; a hunk of skin skewered by the threads he held. With a larger wound ripped opened, more threads easily twisted into the exposed back of the woman's hand. Needle-sharp heads slipped into ruptured veins faster than before.

Kakuzu was certain he'd hadn't survived the destruction of his final heart. The Jiongu, starved into dormancy within his dead carcass, would have been willing and ready to find a new host. All it needed was an entryway: a paper cut, a tiny pinprick, even an old wound would have called to the threads if near enough. The woman must have made the mistake of nicking herself near his corpse. Fate changed by the careless slip of a hand. The Jiongu was dangerous for many reasons, its parasitic nature the cause.

Body still fresh and intimately connected with the Jiongu, their greed sucked life back into him. The abnormal composition of his body combined with the chill of the room had warded off decomposition, allowing the strange resurrection. Warmth started to pool in the center of his chest as threads began to leech life from the woman's body.

'_I live. Obey._'

The thought made the Jiongu still for a moment. Suddenly, threads began to aid damaged lungs, expanding them like bellows. He drew a deep, rasping breath as the threads resumed their savage-search for power, digging with new and vicious vigor through the woman's flesh. Instinct guided now by his insatiable hunger for more, Kakuzu watched as the thread spread under her fair skin, turning veins from blue to black. Following in the path of vessels, they wriggled up her arm and disappeared under her sleeve like worms in soil.

Screams pierced his ears, but they were silenced as red froth began to foam past her lips. The woman's belly rippled beneath her scrubs. Her chest distended before bursting open like an overripe melon below her rib cage, drenching her companions in red. A throbbing bundle of black cords emerged from her punctured abdomen, dripping with gore and twitching in time with the stolen heart wrapped within.

The woman went rag-doll limp. Her companions stared open-mouthed as the organ was lifted across the room and enveloped into his open chest. Dead, her body shuddered in a broken heap on the gurney as threads slithered out the way they came. Inky cords swarmed like greedy, squelching maggot in his chest around the heart as it was integrated. Fresh chakra and blood began to pump through his system as the heart beat strongly, but it wasn't enough.

Thick, ropy tendrils hoisted Kakuzu upward, moving in place of muscle, making his very skin crawl and bulge with life as he was forced to sit up. The saucer-round eyes of the medics watched in horror as his hands, disconnected from his body below the elbow and suspended by threads, snaked into the air. Hands flying, he snared one by the throat and gripped another by the arm. The third turned to flee for the door, but black coils skittered across tiles in pursuit. Pointed ends pierced through a meaty calf, sending the man falling to the ground to be entangled.

In moments, two of the medics were bound with their hands wrapped together and mouths gagged. Without hesitation, sharp threads tore past white scrubs, into skin and delved between ribs; strong enough now to shred past layers of membrane and muscle, instead of having to travel through a map of veins and arteries. One by one, the hearts were swiftly added to Kakuzu's new and growing collection.

The survivor had been choked silent. Thread-bound hands tried to smack Kakuzu's grip loose, but the attempt was tiring. Purple-faced, the man stopped struggling altogether. He reeled the medic toward him until they were eye level, glancing at the Leaf symbol on his headband.

Pupiless eyes scanned the room. He knew the surrounds were unsavory, as the persistent scent of death could not be hidden by disinfectant. The rows of small, metal doors lining the wall confirmed it; he had woken in a morgue somewhere in the Land of Fire, probably Konoha village.

"How long has my body been here?" Kakuzu rasped, loosening his grip slightly as he threatened. "If you scream I'll rip out your throat."

"A-a day." The man wheezed.

"What were you doing, an autopsy?" He asked.

"Not my job," The man panted. "T-the Hokage did it already, we were c-collecting samples."

His eyes glanced at the floor. Several broken glass jars and sealing scrolls lay scattered on the bloodstained ground, used to collect pieces of the Jiongu no doubt.

"And then?" Kakuzu pressed.

"And then you woke up." The man said, blue eyes wide and leaking tears. The color was not unlike the Kyuubi child's eyes. Rage burned in his gut. "P-please, don't kill me. I-I have a wif-"

Kakuzu's grip constricted.

"Not my concern."

Gurgles leaked past blue-lips.

Kakuzu raised his free hand, fingers together and thumb tucked against his palm, as the tan skin morphed into steel-grey. A single, smooth strike sent iron fingers plunging into hot, slippery entrails. Forcing his hand up, Kakuzu shredded soft guts. Elbow deep, fingers grasped a pulsating heart. Tendrils invaded the wound, slithering into the depths of the man's chest to cut the organ loose from arteries. He pulled free with a wet, sucking pop. Releasing the bruising neck, the corpse fell like an empty sack and landed in a growing pool of carnage. Four new hearts beat steadily as one.

Rage subsiding, Kakuzu began to mend himself. Limbs knitted back together in sections like a puzzle. The threads in his mouth retracted down his gullet as a hand supported the hanging jaw. With practiced strokes, a tendril on each side wove along dark cheeks, stitching his face together in a Glasgow smile. If he wanted to keep living, he had to escape the morgue and beyond. It was surprising no backup had arrived for the medics unless he had already slain them, but that was little comfort. More had to be on the way. Someone must have heard the woman's shrill screams.

Looking down, he saw tan flaps hanging open like wings over his gleaming white sternum, putting his entire abdominal cavity on display. A Y-shaped incision stretched from both shoulders, cutting down his torso and ending just above his pelvis. Glancing at the mess of intestines and tendrils sliding onto his lap, he briefly envisioned what the medics had witnessed: a dissected, dismembered corpse attacking from beyond the grave. He snorted at the thought, even as it chilled him and sparked a distant memory.

The Y-incision was clean and easy to close; the Hokage had used some of his old sutures as a guideline. However, the tattered remains of his back were an entirely different matter. Prodding fingers met the bony knobs of his spine in a mass of thread instead of skin. He remembered the boy's Rasengan had ripped through the meat of his back, pulverizing his masks into dust, before sending him streaking to the ground like a meteor.

He doubled over, hand slipping wrist-deep into the hole. Despite the bone-deep throbbing touch caused, threads guided fingers to quickly feel the cross-hatching that marred his skeleton. Teeth gritted. Tendrils grazed where he couldn't reach, helping to explore the damage. The combined effort created an image in his mind. The whipping winds had carved into bone: sheering vertebra smooth in places, slicing groves into his scapula, and wearing parts of his ribs into mere slivers, one floating rib had been completely shorn away.

Removing his hand, Kakuzu wracked his brain for a suitable solution. Masks destroyed, there was nothing to cover his dark, squirming insides. It was doubtful that his skin would grow back and not enough remained to stretch over the hole. His eyes landed on a fallen corpse. Briefly, he considered skinning one of the medics, but that was too time-consuming. Skin that wasn't his was so difficult to keep alive anyway. Exposed to the elements, any skin he had tried to graft on himself previously had rotted off. After a moment, he envisioned a loom and threads set to work. Weaving together, the tendrils formed a web over the hollow, connecting the remaining skin by a taunt patchwork of thin threads, like an internal corset holding his innards in place.

Kakuzu hoisted himself to his feet, knees buckling at his first attempt to stand. He grasped the gurney to stay upright and the trays of equipment, laying on the self beneath the metal bed, clattered onto the floor. The tinkle of something small and hard sung as it rolled along the tile.

Tendrils lifted the overturned pans, just as his Akatsuki ring wobbled to a stop in a pool of blood next to his overturned headband. Threads lifted the items to him. Ring on his finger, Kakuzu raised his arms to knot the headband to his forehead, stopping as knuckles brushed the prickly skin of his scalp.

Eyes widened as he palmed a bald head. His long, dark locks had been shorn down to peach fuzz. Kakuzu realized with mounting disgust, quickly smoothing his hands down his body, that he had been shaved clean. Not even his eyebrows had been spared.

It was then that he began to comprehend the intimate depths of what had occurred during his unconsciousness. Someone had removed his hair. The act was so oddly personal and unexpected it bothered him more than any wound. The lapse of awareness disturbed him-_I was dead_. He pushed the thought away, now wasn't time to dwell on it.

Able to stand now, threads having knitted new knee joints, Kakuzu headed for the door. On his way out, tendrils pulled a pair of large sandals off one of the corpse's feet and snagged a white lab coat hanging from a hook. Admittedly, sterile white wasn't the most advantageous color to attempt escape in. Still, he didn't like the notion of fleeing naked through the streets of Konoha either.


	3. Chapter II: Escape

Bracing himself for confrontation, Kakuzu slipped out into the dim hallway. Threads soundless closed the door behind him before retracting back into this seams. He sensed no one, but the stark white emptiness of the hallway was off-putting.

Quietly, he jogged down the passageway, and the speed made his breath quicken. The corridor led to a flight of stairs. Trying not to pant loudly, he nudged open the door and felt no enemy chakra flaring in the stairwell. The morgue must have been below ground level. The spiraling stairs wound up at least twenty flights above him. Half way up, rectangles of light beamed down from unseen windows. Obviously, this large building was far more than storage for the dead. He wondered what other secrets were housed here, but there was no time to investigate.

Time was of the essence; stairs would only be an inconvenience. In seconds, forearms detached. His right hand launched up an entire flight, trailing threads behind like ribbons. Fingers latched onto the railing above in a steely grip and Kakuzu reeled himself upward, his hands like grappling hooks; a quaint trick he had discovered years ago. In this way, he could reach the top floor and escape by rooftop in moments.

Finding a rhythm in the catching and releasing, he propelled up the center of the stairs. Even as his breathing grew harsh Kakuzu didn't stop until a stabbing pang shot through his chest. The sudden pain made his fingers slip. Finger pads brushed by but failed to grab the next railing.

'Shit-'

He fell.

And fell.

Iron fingers snagged a ledge. Thread snapped. He was yanked to a sudden stop, momentum forcing him to collide backward into the bars of the metal railing. Ribs cracked on impact. With the breath knocked from burning lungs, block dots peppered across his vision.

Jiongu forcibly pumped air back into him, and Kakuzu managed to scrabble over the railing before collapsing on the uneven stairs. Inside his chest, unseen threads massaged a fluttering heart, gradually managing to coax the organ to beat in time with the others again. Already, one of the hearts was beginning to struggle. He assumed it was the woman's. It had been the first sewn in and thus the most used. He'd acquired it less than ten minutes ago, and already the overtaxed organ had suffered a mild heart attack. Not good, hearts usually lasted months if not years.

A door banged opened at the bottom of the stairwell. An unknown chakra signature flared to life. Teetering to his feet, Kakuzu forced his legs to run up the stairs. Hands shot out before him, streaming ahead to latch onto one of the many windows lining the winding stairs. He threw the glass pane open in time to dive headfirst out the opening. Disembodied hands gripped the sill, causing him to swing back toward the building façade. This time he didn't collide, but rather stuck to the wall. Coating the soles of his feet with chakra, Kakuzu clung to the outside of the tall building. Secure, he let go of the ledge above him and closed the window with one hand, before retracting the limbs back into place.

Konoha stretched out before him in an unknown maze of streets. Pupiless eyes quickly scanned the village below, coming to rest on the wide river that meandered through the many buildings. Squinting, he could see figures move in the distance, swiftly hoping over rooftops and gathering near the large gated entrance. So, something had Konoka's attention at its gates. This far way, he couldn't determine the situation, but the disturbance would provide the perfect cover for escape. Aided by chakra, he sprinted down the structure, leaping at the last story to land in a nearby tree. Hopping to the ground Kakuzu fled through shaded streets.

The sun hung low and glared orange over the treetops. Shocks of light streamed through wood-release style buildings. No civilians wandered the streets, shinobi darted by; young chuunin, excited to be a part of the action from a watchable distance. Kakuzu slowed, dampened his chakra, and was able to avoid detection by slipping in and out of alleyways. The troubled heart panged in his chest, threatening to quit.

Once at the river, he crouched in the foliage along the bank and hugged his aching chest, fingers digging into his shoulders. Taking measured breaths through his nose and out his mouth, the Jiongu tried to knead the heart into submission again. The organ relented. Slicked in a sheen of cold sweat, Kakuzu was left panting as he held himself together.

When his breathing slowed, Kakuzu gathered his failing strength and slipped into the river. Cold water chilled him to the bone. His seams were unable tighten enough to prevent icy river water from seeping in.

Sinking, he let himself drift in the arms of the current. Compressing his chakra further, Kakuzu concentrated on holding his breath. Prompted by an old memory, the thread took control and lazily slipped around the edges of the coat, unfurling in long, dark tentacles. Like the arms of an octopus Kakuzu envisioned, strings gently propelled him over the riverbed. Hidden in the deep, rolling waters, Kakuzu escaped; the flow took him beyond the village and into the wilds of the surrounding forest.

* * *

><p>Night had fallen by the time tendrils skittered out of calm waters and up the mossy bank. Needle ends stilled, tasting the cool woodland air like snake tongues. After a moment, a dark body rose beneath the glassy water and Kakuzu broke to the surface with a gasp.<p>

Water drained out of sutures like a sieve. He came to stand on the wide shallow riverbed. Wading to shore, he found had to crawl over the pebbled bottom, unable to stand. Numb, he scrambled up the embankment and collapsed on the forest floor. Water pooled beneath him, soaking the ground as it trickled out of his back.

Exhausted eyes gazed at the night sky. The winding river had cut a trail through the tree branches above, freeing a swath of the heavens. Stars glowed brightly in the endless void. The points of light blinked in and out. When red-green eyes snapped open again, the stars had changed position. Time was passing. Wearily, Kakuzu rolled to his hands and knees and stood on unsteady legs.

His heartbeat was off. No matter how the Jiongu urged, two of the hearts were inconsolable. The unnatural, irregular beating was painful as it was problematic. In order to function properly, all parts of him—stolen or otherwise—needed to work in harmony. In this state, he would be unable to use charka efficiently. He had to hide.

The moon hung like a silver sickle, offering little light as he headed into the lofty trees. The summer canopy above hid the forest floor in darkness, and flecks of dappled moonlight wavered over fallen leaves. Disk-like irises caught the dim light. Nothing stirred, save for the hum of cicadas. Ahead there was a small patch of moonlight. He wondered toward it.

Branches thinned. Gnarled, bare limbs stretched across the sky. The split trunk of the great red cedar gaped like a silently screaming mouth in the dimness. Curious tendrils snaked into the dark opening, over the edges of charred bark and across the rotting interior. Nothing moved within the dead tree.

Easing into the hole a long-past lightning strike had burned, Kakuzu let himself crumple. Inside, the sharp, musty smell of decay filled his nose. Still, the chewed pulp that lined the inside of the tree was soft enough. Though damp, he relaxed on the pulpy bed of decomposition. Like its brothers, he estimated the dead red cedar was a little wider in diameter than his arm-span. Inside the hollowed trunk, Kakuzu found he could lie entirely on his side, and only had to bend his knees slightly to fit inside the rotting hollow.

Arm tucked beneath his head, Kakuzu turned to see stars twinkling above, peaking through the teeth of the splintered trunk. Tired eyes blinked once, twice and then closed.


	4. Chapter III: Demotion

Kakuzu wasn't sure how long he had been looking up at the sky. The stars must have changed position again. Two of them were especially bright, and he admired the brilliant suspended glow. The more he stared, the more intense the light seemed. Kakuzu's eyes narrowed as he watched the heavens.

The golden stars didn't twinkle; instead, they seemed to blink in and out of existence. The light wasn't coming through the cracked split in the trunk he realized, but rather from within the tree itself. Those weren't stars-they're eyes! Kakuzu's hearts began to hammer painfully.

"Don't panic." A voice soothed.

Threads slithered out of seams to rustle along the rotting floor, preparing for a last-ditch effort at self-defense. Charka starved and sluggish, the threads slowly stood on end like the needles of a porcupine.

"**Knock it off**." A deeper voice threatened.

Tendrils paused and drooped.

"Zetsu?" Kakuzu asked quietly, recognizing the dual voices.

"Naturally."

The pair of eyes descended like liquid down the inside of the tree. Toothed jaws jutted into view and Zetsu came to a stop above him, seeming to grow out of the interior of the dead red cedar. The rubbery teeth of the Venus flytrap brushed Kauzu's shoulder as it unfurled—wider than he had ever seen—to adhere to the decaying wood. As though the plant's mouth was a portal to another world, Zetsu's bicolored body leaned over him. Green peeled back to his divided torso, allowing the spy to bend uncomfortably close.

Kakuzu stared back into yellow, miss-matching eyes. Zetsu titled his head, as though listening intently. In the dimness, a smile curled the end of white lips, revealing sharp teeth.

"Never thought I would see you like this." Zetsu's soft voice mused before darkening. "**Just get it over with**."

"Why are you here?" Kakuzu asked, skin crawling as the golden eyes gazed down at him relentlessly.

The spy had once mentioned how meticulously he recorded the Akatsuki's activity, and Kakuzu assumed he did so now. The watchful eyes scanned over him, too brilliant in the dark to not notice their rapid movements. He could feel the spy catalog every sloppy seam and pained breath. Kakuzu grimaced. This was not how he had intended to be remembered: exhausted, filthy, and wrapped in a stolen medical coat.

"Curious. I was interested to see how you managed to live," Zetsu said lightly.

An unlikely statement, the spy never arrived without cause.

"Someone made a mistake," he answered nevertheless.

Kakuzu rolled onto his back to face the spy above him. His grimace deepened, not realizing how stiff his body had become while he slept.

"A lucky one for you, it seems," The spy grinned, bending closer. Bicolored head tilted to the side once more, the white ear almost came to rest on his chest. "Though, that luck seems to be running out."

Kakuzu tried to lean away, but Zetsu's lingering nearness made it impossible, and his back ached as he pressed into the rot beneath him. Tendrils squirmed threateningly, coming flick against the flytrap's spiked mouth. Zetsu pulled away, giving a lopsided smile. Despite the darkness, Kakuzu could see serrated teeth reflect what little light there was.

"Why are you really here?" he pressed.

Zetsu snickered, "Impatient as ever, thought you'd be more thankful really. It's not every day one manages to escape Konoha's Intelligence Division, much less their morgue."

What Zetsu said made sense; he had not woken in a civilian mortuary. Obviously a village of Konoha's size and strength needed a morgue dedicated to processing the bodies of deceased enemies. No doubt Konoha was collecting all the information they could on the Akatsuki, and his dead body had offered them a banquet.

Still, the building was far more than just a house for the dead. The Intelligence Division was famous for their interrogations and well-hidden archive. As one of the largest and longest-lived villages, their records must extend for decades. It was unfortunate he'd had no time to investigate. The wealth of information such a place could house would be worth a fortune; a few choice secrets alone about select bloodlines would have fetched a high price of the black market. Pity. The chance was gone now. The Intelligence Division probably had formidable security, but today there had been a disturbance in the village. It was doubtful such a well-timed distraction would ever arise again.

"So, it was you at the gate then," Kakuzu deduced. "You risked capture to distract them?"

"I risked nothing, I never left the trees." Then tone shifted from high to low, "**Losing one of your own makes people on edge, they jump at shadows now**."

"Why bother?"

"Why bother to what?" Zetsu questioned. "To help you, you mean?"

"Yes, and why come at all?"

"Sent for your ring, of course," Zetsu answered before his inflection changed again and lashed out. **"Then I sensed you were alive. At first, I thought you might be of use still, but now I see the ring is worth more than you**!"

Kakuzu scowled. The spy rarely spoke to him with disrespect. He believed he'd formed a working relationship with Jōzetsu, the pale, talkative half of the man. Dokuzetsu, the more serious and crafty half, remained unreachable.

The spy had often lingered after battles, staying until Hidan finished his rituals to clean up the sordid mess. Prior to the immortal, a line of deceased partners had been feed to the living disposal. During those moments together, Kakuzu had come to understand some truths about the spy. For one, Zetsu had a ravenous appetite, and his chatty half liked company while dining.

Their interests had complemented each other. After all, decomposing bodies were a cumbersome burden. Usually, bounties required only a head to claim. Where Kakuzu saw convenience, Zetsu saw meat. The spy had been more than willing—pleased even—to help dismember a corpse for cash, happy to devour unneeded parts. The cannibal would comment on the exotic flavor of his bounties, often times accurately guessing where they had hailed from by taste alone. Some of the members used to cast lots on Zetus's talent, and Kakuzu had quickly learned to never bet against the cannibal's tastebuds.

"Clearly, I'm alive," Kakuzu said tersely. "The ring still belongs to me."

"**Yes, barely**," The deep voice hissed, "**I can hear your stolen hearts struggling as we speak**."

A tongue licked dual colored lips and Kakuzu felt his stomach knot. All those times he had passively watched those lips and saw-like teeth rip flesh from bone, he'd felt nothing save morbid curiosity. Now, they seemed far more intimidating.

The bicolored face moved toward him and Kakuzu instinctively tried to crawl away, but the tree truck allowed no room for retreat. Threads skittered in warning though he was in no condition to attack the spy. Irregular hearts meant irregular chakra control; Zetsu could crush him, even without the use of his dreaded Mokuton. Kakuzu didn't delude himself. He stood no chance in his current condition.

"No, no. Don't fight, I'm here to help," Jōzetsu soothed and leaned down. Noses brushed, golden eyes bore into red-green. "You've always fed me so I'll make this easy. It's not nice to bite the hand that feeds, right?"

Before Kakuzu could move, hands gripped his face in a vise as ying-yang lips pressed against his own. The dead tree surrounding them creaked to life. Thrashing threads and limbs were captured, knotted among winding vines that erupted forth from decaying wood. The tendrils tried to untangle, but the shoots of wood were too quick for their weakened state. Every time threads snaked free, more wood wound around them until they were snared in a writhing ball at the base of the tree. Growing disparate, the thread attacked, burrowing their needle ends harmlessly into unfeeling fiber.

Panic surged through Kakuzu as he was captured. Wood wrapped in thick cords around his body, clamping his arms to his sides and binding his legs together. His chest ached at his ribcage was squeezed. Hearts pounded wildly, fingertips tingled.

Threads shot past Kakuzu's lips, attempting to skewer the spy through the mouth. Perhaps two needlepoints managed to prick Zetsu—the spy whined lowly—but as the strings came into contact with the thick saliva in the cannibal's mouth, they numbed and were rendered useless.

Lips burned as the slimy tongue worked its way into Kakuzu's mouth. He tried to clamp his teeth together, attempting to bite off the disgustingly slick muscle. He was stopped as the spy's fingers dug through the sutures threading his cheeks, into the wetness of his mouth and wedged between closing molars. He clamped down on the digits, but to no avail. The slimy appendage easily slipped by his teeth and came to lap against his unwilling tongue.

There was no desire in the cannibal's kiss. No, the numbness that began to tingle across Kakuzu's palate spoke of Zetsu's intent. The sweet mucilage tasted like honeysuckle as it oozed past his parted lips. Kakuzu refused to swallow the honeyed saliva, but the spy had anticipated this too.

Lips pulled away and a black hand pressed over his mouth, a thumb clamped his nostrils shut. Unable to breath, Kakuzu felt spit damp fingers stroke along his trachea, forcing him to gulp. Gagging, the sweet mucus went down. Only then did Zetsu release him, allowing Kakuzu to sag in defeat against the wooden Mokuton created restraints. He was reminded of his early capture decades before by this technique-damn this jutsu!

"I hate you," he spat in contempt, warmth beginning to bubble in the pit of his stomach.

The Dionaea man gave a jig-saw smile in return, "You're too stubborn."

He'd witnessed the cannibal's kiss twice before. A rarity, it was usually bestowed on the dying. Perhaps the infrequency was due to the fact that both he and Hidan tended to kill their targets.

The first time had been shortly after Hidan was assigned to him. The immortal was greener then, even more prone to distraction and single-mindless. Hidan had been so enraptured with torturing his victim he'd stopped the fight to prolong the bizarre ritual. Due to the immortal's obsession, they failed to eliminate the entire enemy squad.

Aside from Hidan's target, another shinobi had not expired by the time Zetsu arrived. It had been a girl, barely in her twenties, whom the three-head scythe had irreversibly mangled. Her chest had been sliced open to the bone. One arm had been removed, the other hung brokenly at her side. They had overlooked her in favor of more aggressive targets.

Zetsu had been the first to notice her lingering. The cannibal's head had snapped in the fallen shinobi's direction, before ghosting over the ground and settling by the girl's side. Kakuzu thought his eyes deceived him at first, but the bicolored face was hard-pressed against the blood-pale girl's in a kiss. After the cannibal had released her, she lolled back and laughed drunkenly. She'd spoken too softly for him to hear, but Zetsu seemed to understand her, or perhaps he'd just been angling his head for the perfect bite. She'd giggled even as sharp teeth dug into her throat.

Kakuzu could understand the feeling now. The urge to laugh—a rare sensation in itself—was irresistible. Warmth tingled through his frame followed by the cooling sensation of numbness, as though he had been in a hot bath and then dumped into freezing snow. The pain in his back and chest evaporated, and he could barely tell if the hearts pumped at all.

"See, not so bad," Jōzetsu murmured into his ear. Pupiless eyes swiveling, the split color face wavered into view. The dividing line between black and white seemed to ripple. White lips gave a lopsided smile. Zetsu laughed and the sound resounded like wooden chimes. "You won't even feel a thing."

Teeth loomed closer in the darkness.

The second time he'd seen Zetsu give his narcotic kiss had been after the sealing of Shukaku. While most of the others had been allowed to go their separate ways to rest—the sealing ritual was a tiresome affair—Kakuzu's work had just begun. The Bijuu had not been obtained without casualties.

Aside from Kakuzu's increasing number of previous partners, the rest of the Akatsuki pairs were fairly stable. The last two years had brought little change to their ranks, the addition of Hidan being the cause. The oddball Tobi was an annoying presence, but he had not been given a true assignment then and remained ringless.

Sasori's death was a loss, but a replaceable one.

He'd recognized it as the passing of a business partner; the puppet master had understood the value of things. Sasori's fancy taxidermy tricks hadn't been cheap and he intimately understood the price of his craft. From skilled assassin to weapon of mass destruction, Sasori was a man-made force of nature. Kakuzu respected that. They had been able to strike a few deals, but he had rarely dwelled on the puppet master's partner before that day.

He remembered how Hidan and Zetsu nearly dragged Deidara past the mouth of the cave. The bomber had finally succumbed to blood loss scrounging through the rubble for his ring. He'd been transported immediately to their location by the cannibal. Jōzetsu had snickered and recounted how the hotheaded artist had passed out, legs still in a stranglehold around Tobi's neck. What foolhardy antics.

Prolonged concentration did not allow movement, which meant the artist had been unable to take any supplements during the lengthy sealing ritual. Already wounded, Deidara had exerted himself further by attempting to catch the Kyuubi, only fleeing when grossly outnumbered.

Yes, another Bijuu—Kurama the powerful Kyuubi—would have been highly valuable. However, the artistic duo had allowed themselves to be split-up. Their pride and reliance on their crafts alone hadn't saved them, especially not Sasori. It had been reckless to continue to pursue the Kyuubi as long as Deidara had, at the cost of his other arm.

Once Deidara had been hoisted onto the stolen wooden carving table, Hidan—under Kakuzu's instruction—began to force blood pills down the boy's gagging throat. The Akatsuki had never acquired a long-lived medical shinobi in their ranks. Kakuzu's medical knowledge—gained through voracious reading and experimentation, but by no means via formal education—was the next best.

The makeshift surgery had been a bloody fair. Rarely did Kakuzu have to mend a double amputee capable of death anymore. He'd taken the detached arms Zetsu had given him. Flesh not yet putrid, sandpaper tongues had wagged limply out of the palm-mouths as Kakuzu inspected them. Hidan had given a low whistle, eyeing the carnage over his shoulder.

"Looks like they clipped your wings pretty good there Blondie," Hidan had said sneering.

Accurate. The Kazekage had crushed the right arm, grinding through flesh and bone with sand until the appendage was milled off. The elbow was gone, lost to the sand. Grit had laced the jagged stub, hiding the beginnings gangrene underneath.

"All part of the plan, un." Deidara had assured.

The boy's bloodless lips had smiled, arrogant even as he lay on the operation table. The other limb had been severed clean, momentarily warped into another plane of existence by Hatake. That Konoha shinobi was troublesome.

"And this was part of your plan too?" Kakuzu had asked, raising the arm lost to Hatake's jutsu.

Deidara had shrugged and rolled his eye. Clearly, the boy was pleased with himself; having outmaneuvered two squads of Konoha shinobi, a Jinchuuriki and his superior's killers, all on top of capturing the Kazekage. Deidara's worth was secure for now and the boy knew that. However, that security was just as fleeting as his art. If the first Bijuu had not been captured and the boy returned in this state, his recklessness would have cost him. Their leader would not have been so willing to order the suicidal brat mended then.

He'd realized Sasori had been too soft or neglectful of the boy. Pride and recklessness were a dangerous combination. The puppet master clearly had not stamped it out of the young man. If this continued, Deidara would not be a good long-term investment. Sasori was supposed to temper the boy, but the puppet master had died before he could completely rein in the flighty bomber. This failure had led to their duo being destroyed; one valuable member dead while the other's career hung in the balance.

Irritated by the artist's attitude, he'd stuck Deidara across the face with his own severed arm. Anger and revulsion had flashed through the blue eye, but the boy was smart enough to hold his tongue.

"If it were up to me, you would be left like this," Kakuzu had said glowering, holding the detached limb inches from the artist's nose. "You deserve to have your career ended for your recklessness, allowing not only your arms but your kinjutsu to be ripped from you. If it happens again, you die."

Deidara had glared up at him but gave no reply. He was not the boy's Danna. He would not tolerate backtalk, not from the likes the blonde. Moreover, Kakuzu wouldn't hesitate to kill him, and Deidara's silence proved he knew that also. This operation wasn't being performed out of goodwill, rather because Kakuzu had been explicitly ordered to do so. Once the surgery had begun, the artist had been too consumed maintaining composure to speak at length anyway.

Stumps had to be cut back, the rot pruned from them and scrubbed clean. The jagged bones of the right arm had to be sliced flat. Deidara had endured the cleaning better than anticipated. The boy was rash but stubborn. He bore the pain grim-faced and barely uttered a sound until the encrusted, scabby sand had to be scrubbed off.

Delirious with pain, Deidara had almost managed to remain calm in hissing dignity, as Hidan encouraged him to enjoy his suffering. The immortal's goading was annoying; he didn't fault the boy for lashing out eventually, much to Hidan's glee. To his credit, the priest didn't need to be guided in a time of crisis: he boiled water, sterilized equipment, and gave Deidara's grinding teeth wooden pegs to bite.

There had been nothing to numb the pain. His normal patient didn't require it. Zetsu—rising into being from the floor at the mouth of the cave—returned again prior to the start of the operation. He arrived with an assortment of scrolls and a dark wooden box that contained rows of vials; medical equipment given by their leader to supplement his Spartan supply. The box had belonged to Sasori. It was a prized and painstakingly gathered collection of liquids from specimen around the world.

Spidery script had laced each vial label, but none of them could understand the coded text. With the puppet master dead, the code held no meaning. It had died with him. Unable to tell anesthetic from poison, Deidara had pushed to pursue the surgery as far as possible anyway. Kakuzu understood. Deidara's career—his life, and art—would be severely hampered otherwise. The vials he ordered Hidan to take and seal in a scroll, later they were sold on the black market for a hefty price, buyer beware.

Halfway through, with one arm reattached—when Zetsu had been sent out again to fetch a solution for the absent elbow—Deidara passed out. The artist's young face had been ashen, exhausted from suffering through the torment meant to fix him. A pale contrast to the red trigram—inverted triangle within a circle—Hidan had quickly etched in blood on the unconscious artist's forehead.

The immortal had grown serious in that moment. Believing the boy stood at chance at dying, Hidan had prayed over Deidara in a tongue Kakuzu did not understand. Pressing kisses to his rosary, the priest had pleaded for his god to watch the suffering unfolding.

It was then Zetsu returned with their request, a taxidermy arm. The shingled skin had shone waxy in the firelight. Kakuzu had not asked where, or from whom, the puppet arm had come from. He had simply taken it and went to measure the length of the incisions, calculating so that the boy's arms would hang even once connected. The substitution would be efficient but not flawless.

The strange, secret methods of Sasori's art would save his partner's arm. Kakuzu's idea, Hidan had agreed with a smirk. The artists' constant bickering about art had been something of a legend in the organization; the irony of the solution was not lost on the priest. Networks of dead vessels and charka channels had been preserved in the human puppet arm. His tendrils could work with that. Through patience and pain, Kakuzu could reconnect all the vital networks in Deidara's arm, allowing the bomber full control over his stolen kinjutsu again. Sasori's art style had subsequently saved his young partner's as well.

Returning to consciousness, Deidara had moaned lowly when the alien part rested against his stump. White lips frowning, Zetsu had pushed Kakuzu away then to lean over his patient. Golden eyes had taken in the pale face and wide eye. Deidara feverishly begged not to be eaten, insisting he wasn't dead yet.

Deidara was beautiful, of that there was no denying. Things often appeared the most stunning when they started to break apart, as Deidara was well aware. Still, the artist's beauty was mostly due to his androgyny. Deidara was not unlike the spirit Ariel. With his mutable gender and almost mythically fast attack speed, the boy was an elemental force of fire and air, captured and bound in service to the Akatsuki. Yet, the comparison went no further. There was no mercy in the boy's heart, and his taste for destruction and vengeance—especially in the face of Itachi Uchiha—was palatable.

The way golden eyes had scanned over the boy, Zetsu seemed almost enraptured. Clearly, the cannibal was hungry, but what exactly he was starved for Kakuzu hadn't been able to tell and didn't care. Distrust flickered in the artist's blue eye when the cannibal leaned low over him. Jōzetsu's voice had whispered softly to Deidara as white fingers smoothed disheveled, sweaty hair behind his ear. There was a lull in the conversation and the artist nodded, silently agreeing to the cannibal's terms, whatever they had been.

Deidara had not resisted the cannibal's kiss; even dared to press back after a moment, back arching off the table. Before Zetsu could pull away, the artist brutally bit his lower lip. Zetsu balked and shoved him off with a snarl—not appreciating when others bit him back apparently—and the boy collapsed in a fit of laugher. Blue eye rolling in its socket, Deidara exclaimed he had tasted ambrosia in-between fits of laughter.

"I couldn't help myself," The artist had cried after Zetsu as the spy fled from the cave, saw-teeth bared in anger. "You taste so sweet, it's a surprise no one's tried to eat you!"

Kakuzu slapped sense into the boy again though he seemed not to feel it this time, and the operation began anew. Deidara had giggled throughout the remainder of the surgery; never even flinching as threads deftly reconnected his arm. Dreamily, he laid back and began to chatter relentlessly. Spilling secret after secret, much to Hidan's snide encouragement.

The boy had prattled on: recounting his village, his deep-seeded hatred for Itachi, and finally his respect for his recently deceased partner. Hidan had been amused and encouraged the artist, laughing as Deidara divulged information about the puppet master that would have surely gotten him poisoned had Sasori still been living. Apparently, the boy's Danna hadn't been terribly unkind to him. Sasori had a soft spot for beauty after all.

Kakuzu wasn't amused though, he knew better. That kiss was a weapon. Saliva that performed as both an anesthetic and a hallucinogenic could be used to capture prey or other elusive things. The cannibal had lingered outside the cave, still as one of the trees, waiting to be called on to assist or clean up.

_Is this what you do_?-He had thought-_Collect people's secrets before swallowing them whole_?

Not for the first time, Kakuzu had felt unnerved by the cannibal. Not because of his strange nature, but because those talents were perfect for far loftier goals. Disposal, informant, and network; Zetsu could play whatever role was needed for the Akatsuki, almost too conveniently.

He respected but did not trust the Dionaea man. Zetsu was a divided man to begin with and was difficult to predict.

"First you hate me, now you don't trust me," Jōzetsu mocked above him. "Still, I never knew you thought so much the other members, me especially."

Kakuzu jaw clicked shut, remembering how Deidara dreamily spilled his guts—_How much did I say_? The wide grin was answer enough.

"**You've had your fun. End this**," Dokuzetsu growled before Jōzetsu chimed. "Come on, he's not even near death yet—**Do your duty**!" As the halves argued among themselves. Kakuzu gave a low, drugged laugh. In heated disagreements, Zetsu's eyes tended to cross. "**Shut up! You're nothing more than stringy meat now**," The deep voice snarled at him before snapping at his other half. "**An order was given**—I was told to fetch the rings and nothing more." Jōzetsu shot back mid-sentence, and Kakuzu figured the man possessed more than one set of vocal cords because the tone switched so quickly between the two.

The ring is more valuable than I am-he thought, remembering the dark words. It was a dismissal. Zetsu had been sent to collect and consume his remains, as the cannibal always did when there was a death in their ranks. Since he had lived, Zetsu had taken advantage of the situation; Kakuzu had all but delivered himself to the cannibal with his assistance. The realization was sickening-but Jōzetsu seems unwilling to end this.

"You're waiting for me to expire," Kakuzu said, laughing despite himself as the bi-colored head inclined in confirmation. "So my failure on this mission with Hidan negates everything I've done for the organization? You'll help me escape, but nothing more."

"I'd say it's a miracle you're even alive at this moment. What? Do you really think it would be worth the organizations time to feed your organs? Your hearts are so out of time, it's like listening to a clock winding down. And besides, we are well aware you've added more to the Akatsuki treasury in life that anyone else." Lowly, the darker half finished. "**And your death added even more**."

Kakuzu eyes widened. It was tradition that all organization members' assets belonged to the Akatsuki upon their death. As missing shinobi, there was no reason to create a detailed will. There were no friends, no family to inherit their earnings. No, there was only the Akatsuki.-No!

"I'm alive," he repeated, uncontrollable laughter shaking his frame. He could feel his breath quickening.

"Yes, but you did die."

"That was a technicality, I came back!" The desperation in his voice was audible, even over the awful, forced laughter.

"**I thought you would have enjoyed the irony. In the end, you're just like your bounties, worth more dead than alive**," Dokuzetsu quipped before the lighter half added. "Yes, you'll be hard to replace, but think of it this way; you've provided a beneficial service. The Akatsuki can now peruse bigger goals, thanks to our biggest patron. Just waiting until it's final, that's all."

Rage fueled the uncontainable laughter. Despite his numbed senses, Kakuzu could feel pressure on his chest as if someone was gradually laying rocks on his rib cage one by one.

"You can't do this!"

"But we already did, down to the last cent. My brothers were very thorough," Zetsu assured, referring to his many selves.

"Impossible," Kakuzu spat, hating the confidence in the other's tone.

"You really think so? There's always somebody watching," Zetsu smirked, voice lowering. "**Obviously you've been cooking the books for ages, you thought our superiors didn't know? After you died, it was easy to break into all of those separate bank accounts. You may have changed your name, but never your infamous demeanor. At the mere mention of you, every bounty collector, accountant and teller gave you up**—no honor among thieves." Jōzetsu added before continuing. "Also, did you actually think you were clever hiding all that extra gold away in caverns like the old dragon you are?"

"You-!" Kakuzu roared but couldn't continue as he choked on rage and laughter.

He wheezed. Lungs constricted. The pressure grew worse. He looked down, watching his chest convulse before his breathing hitched. The trembling stopped. He panted tiredly in the stillness. Though the cannibal's kiss spared him the horrible pain, Kakuzu knew there had been a death inside of him.

"You got yourself too worked up—**About time**," Zetsu's voices announced, tongue licking his lips. "**One down, three to go**."

Golden eyes now watched the rise and fall of his chest, as if seeing through the skin to the dead heart that lay beneath. In less than a day, he had strained the organ to the point of exhaustion. Zetsu was right; he really was reaching his limit. Four hearts were enough to jumpstart a man from death, but not prolong life. A raspy, unintentional laugh left him.

"Why don't you just kill me?" Kakuzu muttered, laughs still leaking from his lips.

If what Zetsu said was true, he had nothing now. All of his life's work was gone. The millions of ryō he had toiled and fought for was gone. It was difficult to believe. One account must remain. Zetsu couldn't possibly have emptied all of them, but it was doubtful he'd live to investigate the extent of his financial damage.

"**I wasn't ordered to, yet**." Zetsu's dual voices said. "I was sent to collect your rings."

"Rings. Plural again," Kakuzu summed. "You must mean Hidan too."

Zetsu nodded.

The celestial rings were the most valuable piece of the Akatsuki uniform and signified a person's complete admittance. Once they were bestowed to a member, the ring solely belonged to that individual. The initiation ceremony sealed the ring to that person, and no other could remove it save the wearer. The seal could only be broken by death, or if the individual took back their vow of loyalty to the Akatsuki. Hidan couldn't possibly be dead. If Zetsu was after the immortal's ring, something else must have occurred.

"So you aren't aware?" Zetsu asked and Kakuzu shook his head that he wasn't. "Hidan was defeated."

"Doubtful," Kakuzu muttered with an uncontrolled chuckle, "he can't be killed."

"True, but he isn't unstoppable." Zetsu said with a hinting smirk.

This was a fact Kakuzu had attempted to teach on the priest many times. Immorality did not mean invincibility. Hidan's everlasting body was a shock to most opponents. Often, the priest's victims were too surprised to think rationally once they discovered he was undying and faltered, becoming easy prey. However, not everyone was so easily disarmed. Hidan was a one-trick pony and the Nara boy was of a different caliber. He'd seen the determination in the boy's eyes.

"What happened, where is the idiot?"

"The Nara boy is clever," Zetsu confessed. "He dug a grave for Hidan in the Nara Clan forest. The boy buried him, but not before wrapping Hidan in explosive tags and detonating them. He intends for his clan to watch over the grave forever. "

"That is clever," Kakuzu admitted with a laugh. This time, it didn't sound so forced. He had considered similar plans before, but rarely acted on them. He'd also never left Hidan incapacitated for long, as he was always ordered to fix the immortal once again. Damn the Akatsuki's stipulation for team collaboration. "Why not go fetch him then? It should be easy with your talents."

"It's been decided that Hidan will remain where he is for now," Zetsu answered simply.

"Why?" Kakuzu questioned, eyes narrowing. "Since he's deathless, you can't simply take his ring. Another position will remain vacant if you don't."

Another finger would remain empty on the Gedou Mazou. The unfilled position would increase the burden of the sealing ritual. There had been a noticeable difference in the charka expenditure after Orochimaru's betrayal. The ritual wasn't impossible to complete, but it had taken longer. Now, with three vacate positions the ritual might take as long a week to finish. That was a long time to remain in near-total concentration.

"**An acceptable loss**," Zetsu answered darkly before his inflection switched again. "Of course, I could unearth him easily, but picking up all those little pieces…I doubt the large chakra expenditure would go unnoticed. Besides, my talent lies in disposing of bodies, not putting them back together. And why even bother in the first place." Bicolored shoulders shrugged. "Without you, Hidan is considered too volatile to work toward the Akatsuki's goals. **A waste**."

This was true enough. At the start of their partnership, he'd had to physically restrain Hidan with his Jiongu to keep the priest from pursuing valuable targets. Not all of their missions were purely based around slaughter though that had been their specialty as a duo. Missions varied. All the partnerships had to collect information, raise money, interrogate enemies, and capture Jinchuuriki alive. If he had let Hidan go unchecked, the immortal would have ruined countless missions, not to mention bounties. Also, someone had to mend the priest when he misjudged a powerful opponent.

Their partnership had worked because he'd been able to control the immortal and focus that zealous fury. Without guidance or a brain, Hidan was little more than a common thug. Kakuzu had also tried to teach this to the priest by allowing Hidan's arrogance to get him in over his head during battles. Despite Hidan's thoughtlessness though, he wasn't an awful shinobi. Terribly predictable, once one understood the nature of his powers, but oddly efficient when guided. Still, a strong hand needed to lead Hidan.

If Hidan were paired with another, the priest would try to murder them. That was a given. The immortal had a temper too. It only took a few religious desecrations to make Hidan fly into a murderous rage.

Most Akatsuki members could probably stop Hidan, but once again the team dynamic was more of a hindrance than a help. The immortal was an idiot, but Hidan had time on his side. Partners traveled everywhere together, slept and ate in the same vicinity. It was nearly impossible to be on guard constantly, even for missing shinobi.

All it took was a drop of blood, and the tables turned in Hidan's favor. Years of experience, combined with the Doton: Domu jutsu and Kakuzu's deeply ingrained mistrust, had made all of Hidan's attempts on his life futile. While Hidan's immortality had rendered all of Kakuzu's murderous rages null in return. That was their partnership had started and subsequently remained, locked in mutual hatred with neither able to officially gain the upper hand.

"If you were intent on leaving him, why even mention him then?" Kakuzu asked, stifling his laughter. The uncontrollable urge was lessening.

"You're right about the sealing ritual, that is a concern with three missing. I was told that if I could fetch both rings, without expending a lot of time and effort on my part, I should. " Saw-like teeth smiled. "When I found that you were alive, I thought that maybe you could be of some assistance…"

"You want me to dig him up and put him back together," Kakuzu finished for him.

"Initially, yes. But I only need one ring to finish my mission—**and you're too weak to do shit, so hurry up a die. I won't wait any longer**—orders are orders—**accidents happen**." The voices clipped back and forth between each other rapidly.

Kakuzu scowled, hating both his present weakness and the ease with which Zetsu disregarded him. A day ago, and his reality had been so much different. Now, no matter how much rage filled his frame, he was powerless, merely a meal for the cannibal. Directly above him came a gurgling growl. Red-green eyes glanced from Zetsu's stomach to his unblinking gold eyes.

"Hungry?"

"**Starving**."

He considered the situation. Until now, Jōzetsu hadn't been willing to speed along his demise, but the spy hadn't been visibly hungry before either. To his knowledge, the cannibal did not eat off duty and feasted only when provide with a meal, usually deceased enemies and the rare fallen member. Some days, Zetsu and his many clones had a whole village to sink their teeth into. Others, he went without a morsel for days, while the rest of the teams traveled to their next destination.

"Since I don't want to die, and you're growing impatient, why don't we strike a deal?" Kakuzu ask. A chorus of laughter greeted him, coming out of one throat. Red-green eyes glowered. "I'm serious."

"I know, what's why it's funny," Zetsu scuffed. "But go on, make your deal. I want to hear this."

He glared but continued, "I'll give my ring to you, and you'll have what you need to complete your mission. In return, you leave me, in peace and alive."

"Interesting. You're aware that giving your ring to me would make you my subordinate then, right?" The cannibal asked, leaning down to stare into his face. "For however long you have left."

"I'm aware."

A wide grin broke out across Zetsu's face. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen, you're willing to lower yourself. What, afraid the next kiss will have more bite to it?"

"I grow tired of your presence," Kakuzu defended firmly.

"**You'd better get used to it, subordinate**," Zetsu's voice said, teeth glinting. "Still, sweeten the deal."

'What else do you want?" Kakuzu asked. Golden eyes looked fixedly at his chest for a moment, before staring back hungrily into his eyes. Understanding passed between them. "Ah, I see."

Silently, he willed the suture knitting down his sternum to open. Lethargic threads heeded his commands. The Y-incision loosened, unraveling in long loops. If this was what the cannibal hungered for, so be it. It wasn't a loss. The dead flesh couldn't stay inside of him long, less it began to rot.

The incision eased open and thread slipped out listlessly, pushing back the folds of his skin and bursting the top buttons of his medical coat. The coils of wood wrapped around his body retreated to expose his upper chest but did not let him go. As soon as the seam opened, a dark hand darted forward to sink into black insides.

"Don't!" Kakuzu snapped with such authority the hand stilled, hovering over the parted seam. Saw-teeth gritted together, staring down at him unflinchingly.

Although he wouldn't have been able to feel Zetsu digging around his chest cavity, he loathed the idea all the same.

It was difficult to locate the heart. The narcotic kiss still numbed his senses. Kakuzu couldn't detect the organ it by touch. After a moment of commanding the Jiongu to do his bidding, he simply had to trust the thread could perform the task on its own. Slowly, like a clumsy hatchling exiting an egg, the dead heart was pushed out until it lay exposed on top of squirming thread. Tendrils lazily disconnected, wordlessly offering the meal. Zetsu was quick to scoop up the fleshy lump. He turned it over in dual colored hands, inspecting it as one would a piece of fruit at market.

"You know," The cannibal muse, "you always end up feeding me more than anyone else, maybe you won't make such a bad subordinate, if you live." The spy ate in quick, mechanical bites. Serrated teeth easily tore through muscle. Zetsu's purpose was to consume and he was very good at it. The spy wasted nothing, even licked his bloody fingers clean before holding out his hand. "Now, your ring."

He could hear, rather than feel the wooden restraints retreating creaking as they loosened. Shakily, Kakuzu raised his freed hands. Even in the dark, the silver band on his left middle finger gleamed softly. Painstakingly slow, as he could not feel his trembling hands, he began to form the hand signs related to each ring until he came to his symbol. Energy coursed faintly through his body.

"I, Kakuzu, forever relinquish control over the north seal," he said the ritualistic words solemnly. The ring glowed blue. "With these words, I break my oath of loyalty."

Black fingers gripped his ring bearing hand. "Kakuzu, you have broken your oath to the Akatsuki, and you have relinquished your ring. Disloyal servant, I will now sever your ties."

Zetsu opened his mouth wide and lowered his head. The middle finger disappeared into the cannibal's open maw. Bone crunched, cackling between teeth until Kakuzu heard a sharp snap. When Zetsu raised his head again, the digit was gone. The stump oozed blood and threads. Tendrils felt around the new wound, as though confused to find the finger missing.

"I want that back," Kakuzu said, fingers twitching for emphasis.

Zetsu frowned, clearly having every intention of ingesting it, but spat the digit into his hand.

"Is that how you ask your superior?" Zetsu mocked, holding the appendage by a stray cord that had wriggled out of chewed stub.

Removing the ring, Zetsu tossed the finger back at him. It bounced off Kakuzu's chest. Fumbling, he picked the finger up in his left hand. Searching cords cautiously felt for the dismembered part, and the finger was slowly reattached. He inspected digit, the sutures lining his skin were reminiscent to the ring that circled it moments before.

"Our business is concluded."

"**Not yet, subordinate**," Dokuzetsu growled out, "**your life is mine now. I was charged to collect both rings if I could, and you will help me**." Golden eyes bore down, blood-stained teeth smiling. "I order you to find Hidan and return his ring to me. After all, it's your fault he's down there."

"That idiot got himse—"

"—**No**," Zetsu cut him off harshly. "**Idiot or not, he was your responsibility. The fault is your own. You will fetch him if you live long enough to do so**."

"And if I succeed?" Kakuzu pressed.

"I will reward you, I'm always good to faithful underlings," Zetsu answered. "You've lost a lot, you certainly must want some of it back, right?"

Kakuzu gave a sharp nod. "And if I fail?"

Saw-like teeth glinted as the bi-colored face leaned in, predatory and low.

"**Then, I will clean up your mess, as always**," Zetsu said before pulling away and fully sitting back into the leaves the surrounded his lower body. "But I'm getting ahead of myself, a deal is a deal, you wanted to be left alone, right?" The great Venus flytrap began to close; toothed jaws interlocked like laces up Zetsu's torso. "Remember, someone is always watching."

The giant leaves closed and like an apparition the spy began to melt into the side the dead tree trunk. Winding shoots of wood retracted, creaking and groaning as they returned to the rot they had been formed from. In moments, Zetsu was gone. No trace remained of the spy, and Kakuzu was left alone.

* * *

><p>1) Zetsu's halves are referred to as Dokuzetsu (Wicked Tongue, black half) and Jōzetsu (Chatterbox, white half). I thought the nicknames sounded better than the more factual hyphenated names. I also don't read Zetsu fanfiction and rarely see him make any appearances in the ones I do read. If there is a preferred naming scheme, I don't know it.<p>

2) Mucilage is a thick, gluey substance produced by nearly all plants. In the Droseraceae family, the Sundew—a relative of the Venus Flytrap—produces sweet mucilage to attract prey. I thought it would be fun if Zetsu had a similar ability, but I warped it into a narcotic saliva that acts like sort of nitrous oxide (laughing gas). I wanted to make Zetsu even weirder.

3) Deidara's arm replacement is never explained. I always wondered how Kakuzu reconnected it. Clearly, his bedside manner needs some work.


	5. Interlude I

To say Tsunade had been upset was a vast understatement. Shizune could still recall the anger that colored her mistress's face when she heard the report.

"How could you lose a corpse?" Tsunade had cried and slammed her palm down on the desk. Papers scattered to the office floor.

The medical officer who had delivered the news looked stricken, at a loss to describe the apparent horror that had taken place in the Intelligence Division's mortuary. The Godaime Hokage wasn't usually one to shoot the messenger, but yesterday's events had been terribly unsettling.

"I'm sorry Hokage-sama, but the body of Akatsuki Kakuzu of Takigakure is gone," the medical shinobi had said quickly, face grim. "According to the evidence, it appears that the body was not taken."

"So what, are you saying he just got up and walked out?" The Godaime demanded.

"Yes, Hokage-sama," the man had replied humorlessly, "after removing the hearts of several medical personnel."

The frankness had made Tsunade pause. "Impossible. He was dead, stone-cold dead!"

"As you say," the medical officer said. "Still, the medical team wasn't prepared to handle the collection and disposal of the Akatsuki's kinjutsu."

"No, they weren't," Tsunade had agreed with pursed lips. "But he was torn apart…to think someone, anything could survive."

"Regardless," The man continued firmly, "I and several other medical officers request that the Akatsuki's autopsy file be submitted for review."

"The man didn't have a heart left in his body. Are you implying that I made a misdiagnosis?" Tsunade asked with narrowed eyes.

"We are merely being thorough," The medic had tried to assure, but his stolid expression said otherwise.

"Well, either I have made the gravest mistake in medical history or the man's a zombie," Tsunade murmured without a hint of humor before ordering. "Shizune, submit the file for review."

"Thank you, Hokage-sama," The medic replied with a small, stiff bow.

The Godaime had inclined her head in return, and the man left without another word. It was only then her mistress spared a thoughtful glance at her. Taking a seat behind her desk, the Godaime's eyes had then settled on Shizune. The way her blonde brows had gathered, she knew her mistress was considering something drastic.

"Shizune, I want the samples the medical team was collecting from the Akatsuki," Tsunade said after a moment and ordered. "Have them sent to my office immediately."

"All due respect, do you think that's a good decision?" she had asked. "Considering your last assessment is under review…"

"I agree with what my medical officer said. The medical team wasn't prepared," Tsunade acknowledged. Sighing through her nose, she leaned back in her chair. Her blue eyes had traveled to the window to gaze at the village below. "Whatever we're dealing with, I want to oversee it myself. I won't have a repeat of this tragedy. If there are objections, I will deal with them after the fact. Do as I order. "

The severity in her mistress's expression left no room for argument. Shizune had delivered the autopsy file—after reading it over—and sent Tsunade's instructions to a medical squad for immediate transportation. Shizune hadn't had seen her mistress for the rest of the day. The Godaime had locked herself in her office with the samples and equipment—dozens of trays, glass slides, and a microscope—she had requested. According to those on duty, Tsunade hadn't left the room all night either. She'd only popped her head out to ask for more microscope sides and bottles of sake.

She didn't blame her mistress for her actions though Shizune wished that Tsunade was less self-destructive. However, she understood that Tsunade's determination sprang from embarrassment. Konoha—and the Hokage by proxy—had been humiliated yesterday.

The source of the mysterious and powerful surges of chakra near the entrance of the village was still unknown. At the time, the flares of energy were considered hostile, they had believed them to be multiple enemies readying for a sudden frontal assault. By now, they had all come to understand that what had occurred was a distraction. More than likely, the agent or agents behind the commotion had to be connected to the Akatsuki, but that was all they could gather. The perpetrators hadn't been seen, despite sending three four-man ANBU squads after the enemy chakra signatures. What they had suspected to be enemy units seemed to be nothing more than phantoms.

Only one report had come back detailing any sort of physical movement. A young ANBU swore she had seen a shot of wood several feet thick, spring out of one trunk and connect to another neighboring tree. In the bridge of wood, a lump had traveled from one trunk to the next. Sensitive to such phenomena, she swore the chakra radiating off the moving bump matched the signature felt at every disturbance near the forest's edge. As soon as the lump within had traveled to the next tree, the wood quickly retreated and the signature vanished.

What the ANBU described didn't sound possible. That would require the capability to manipulate wood, an ability that hadn't been seen since Yamato, who had been with Team 7 at the time. It was conceivable that the young woman might have been the victim of a strange genjutsu. However, if what the ANBU reported was true, then that could mean that the Akatsuki had the power of the Mokuton at their disposal. The idea alone was chilling enough.

Still, one eyewitness report wasn't much to go off of. Her mistress had focused her efforts on the physical evidence at hand, the samples collected from the downed Akatsuki member. The process had taken all night. Now, as early morning turned to midday, the Godaime had been issuing orders, but still refrained from admitting anyone to her office directly.

Shizune walked to the Hokage's office with Tonton in her arms, tired of her mistress's secrecy. She was stopped by two ANBU guarding the door, one male the other female.

"The Hokage isn't seeing anyone yet," a deep, muffled voice said.

She raised an eyebrow at the masked man's face.

"She'll see me," Shizune insisted holding up Tonton who began to whimper on cue, just as they had rehearsed. "Tonton has been inconsolable all night."

From the way the ANBU's heads tilted slightly, she knew the pig was looking at them with round, doleful eyes. The same expression Tonton gave when she was begging Shizune to share her lunch.

"Sorry Shizune," the other ANBU apologized, "but the Hokage was very clear-"

A squealing sob interrupted the ANBU. Shizune could feel Tonton quake in her hands as the pig began to cry in earnest. Big, fat tears rolled down pink cheeks in-between snorting sniffles. The ANBU seemed at a loss. While they didn't budge from their station, they appeared unsure what to do. Masked faces turned to glance at each other before the woman raised a gloved finger to her porcelain lips.

"Shhhhh, Tonton, please!" The ANBU pleaded.

"What the hell is that racket?" The loud voice of the Godaime cried.

Feet pounded across the floor before the office door cracked open and the sour smell of old sake wafted into the hall. Stern faced, the Godaime stared them down. From the circles under her eyes, it was obvious Tsunade hadn't slept the night. Yet, her pinched brows softened as she took in the sight before her.

The Hokage sighed, opened the door wide and plucked the sobbing swine from Shizune's hands. Wrapping Tonton in her arms, the small pig was nearly enveloped by her generous bosom. However, the animal didn't seem to mind and gave an oink of contentment.

"Shizune, come in, I wanted your opinion on this anyway," the Godaime said and retreated into the room, pig happy to be held her arms. Shizune followed, closing the door behind her.

Glancing around the office, Shizune's eyes widened. Her mistress had never been a tidy woman, but the Godaime had transformed her office into something of a laboratory overnight. White canvas lay on the floor, covered by tray after tray of what appeared to be hair. Each specimen was labeled, identifying what part of the body it had been taken from-head, chest, legs, and so forth. On Tsunade's desk sat a microscope surrounded on either side by large stacks of glass slides housed in white boxes.

"You know," Tsunade began as she sat in the chair behind her desk. "It's not nice to cry wolf, or, in this case, cry pig."

"Tonton really did miss you though." Shizune insisted.

"…Yeah?" she asked. Glancing down at the animal who was using her breasts as a pillow, she gave the soft, pink head a scratch. Tonton oinked in agreement.

"And I hate it when you lock yourself up like this," Shizune continued, glancing at the growing row of sake bottles lining the window ledge. "You are the Hokage, but you don't have to burden yourself like this." She gestured to the room around them. "We have teams of specialists trained to do this. Why not supervise a team instead? You don't have to do it all on your own."

"That's exactly why I let you in," Tsunade said pointing to the microscope on her right and brushed Tonton from her lap, who stayed by her master's feet. Tsunade changed the glass slide and turned the optical device toward Shizune. "Look at this and tell me what you see."

Shizune bit her lip, disliking how her mistress downplayed her concern and redirected the conversation, but did as she was told. Bending over, she glanced into the eyepiece and turned the focus until the blurred specimen came into view. At first, it appeared to be a thread, but as Shizune turned the fine focus, she realized it was a hair. She examined the strand, able to see all the layers from the softly shingled outer cuticle, to the inner fair-colored cortex, and segmented medulla that lined its middle.

"I would say this is human hair," she said glancing up at her mistress. Tsunade nodded. Shizune returned her attention to the eyepiece. "And blonde at that."

"Good," Tsunade praised, pulling out the slide and putting in another one. "What you just saw was the control, my hair. Now, look again."

Focusing the optics another strand came into view. It was much darker this time, but she could make out the same features as before.

"Human hair." Shizune said, raising her head.

"Correct again," Tsunade nodded. Removing the slide, she held it up to the light. "This was taken from our dead Akatsuki's head. Looks pretty normal, right?"

Shizune bobbed her head in agreement, "Just normal hair."

"Okay, so," Tsunade paused and put down the slide. Carefully, she reached for one of the white boxed. Opening it, the Godaime removed a swatch of folded white cloth. A sealing symbol had been quickly painted in black ink on the top of the fabric. Shizune eyed the item with suspicion, unease twisting her stomach. Unfolding the cloth, Tsunade removed a glass slide with a dark fiber pressed between the clear plates and placed the slide on the microscope. "Have a look."

Shizune lowered her head and peered into the eyepiece. The specimen was dark, unnaturally so. She would have to turn up the illumination to even see through the black filament. The specimen wasn't manmade; there were no woven fibers or no braided strings. In fact, the sample was smooth, extremely so. Yet, she could still make out a faintly shingled cuticle. The keratin overlapped subtly in random scales, as seen in humans. Carefully adjusting the illumination, she found that the specimen appeared to have one long, thick medulla at its core. This was a trait usually seen in animals and not humans and contradicted the smooth outside of the specimen.

"Any guesses?" Tsunade prompted.

"Ah…well, it looks like hair," Shizune answered. "But…"

"But?" Tsunade pressed.

"I can't tell what it's from exactly. The interior makes me think it's from an animal, but the cuticle really doesn't match that at all. It looks so much like the previous slides, in that regard at least. So I would guess…human?"

Tsunade nodded solemnly, "That was my thought as well."

"What is it from?"

"What you're looking at is Jiongu, Takigakure's kinjutsu."

Shizune blanched. She had read both the battle and autopsy reports and one fact clear had been made abundantly clear, the Akatuski had been monstrous. More string than man. The living thread not only seemed to keep his limbs attached to his body, they made up his innards as well. The thread and could even protrude far distances and extended from his back, arms, and mouth. From what Tsunade was showing her, however, the thread wasn't thread at all. It had a very human origin.

"Oh, god," Shizune gasped, jerking away from the microscope to put a hand over her mouth. How could anyone allow such a thing to happen to them? How could anyone let hair invade their entire body? The cost was horrific.

"Uh-huh," Tsunade consoled. Pulling out a sake bottle and two small porcelain cups from her desk drawer "The bastard's a walking bad hair day."

The Godaime poured a liberal amount in each cup and nudged one toward Shizune. For once, she didn't protest, and immediately grabbed the cup and swallowed a mouth full.

Eyes watering, Shizune asked. "How is that possible?"

"No idea," Tsunade admitted. "It doesn't match any of the follicles found on his body, I've checked. Clearly, it doesn't belong to him naturally, but its exact origins are unknown. We know it's from Takigakure, but that's given knowledge straight from the Bingo Book." She gave a sigh and drank from her own cup, grimacing before continuing. "I've attempted to contact Takigakure, but no bird has returned yet. It's doubtfully they'll reply at all anyway."

"What did you request from them?" Shizune asked, aware that Takigakure was an extremely secluded village and usually considered hostile.

"How to kill the bastard for good. Clearly, we missed a few steps." Tsunade answered. "It's their stolen jutsu after all, and they guy's been in the Bingo Book for decades. You'd think they'd want that blot off their record. Offered them a nice amount of ryō for divulging the information, that's the only language they seem to understand." She shrugged and then finished off her drink before adding. "It's a gamble, but worth a try anyway."

Shizune nodded. "Have the squads found anything?"

Tsunade shook her head no. The search for the missing Akatsuki had been fruitless so far. She motioned to the trays littering the floor.

"For now, this is all we have to work with, but I did figure out one thing," Tsunade said and extended her index finger. The tip of the digit glowed blue as the Godaime focused her chakra to a single point. "Look."

Shizune peered into the microscope once more. In her peripheral, she watched as Tsunade's fingertip came to rest near the glass slide that held the specimen. As the chakra neared, the thread gave an involuntary twitch under the glass, then another. Shizune gasped and quickly refocused the microscope to watch the wriggling strand.

"It reacts to chakra," Shizune noted with surprise watching the strange, jolting movements. The cuticle rippled and buckled like the scales of a snake as it jerked.

"Yep, like a hungry little worm," Tsunade said in disgust. "If one piece acts like that near a small amount of chakra, think of what an entire body full of them would do."

"It was attracted to the medical team's chakra in the morgue…" Shizune breathed, head snapping up from the eyepiece.

"My thought exactly, seems like a plausible hypothesis," Tsunade agreed, retracting her finger. The twitching stopped almost immediately. Carefully, the Godaime returned the Jiongu slide back to its protective cloth and packed it away.

Knuckled rapped softly at the door.

"Hokage-sama—" the male ANBU's voice called from the hallway.

"About time," The Godaime interrupted. "Let him in, come in." The door opened, Shikamaru entered. The stale smell of cigarettes clung to him, and the deep shadows under his glassy eyes told Shizune that the young man hadn't slept either. "Report."

"The grave is undisturbed," Shikamaru supplied. His eyes swept the room and lingered briefly on the many trays lining the floor, but the young man remained on point. "Ino sensed no change, the Akatsuki Hidan remains."

"Good," Tsunade said. "I want you to continue leading the squad monitoring the area."

"Troublesome, but wouldn't have it any other way," Shikamaru drawled. Despite his lazy manner, Shizune could see contempt burning in his dark, tired eyes. It was startling to read such strong emotion from the 'lazy genius'. Shizune had to glance away, unable to hold his gaze. They had already lost one Akatsuki. Clearly, Shikamaru didn't want to lose Asuma's killer as well.

"As someone who fought the Akatsuki pair, what's the likelihood that Kakuzu will try to retrieve his partner?" Tsunade asked.

"Not sure. They bickered both times our forces fought'em," Shikamaru shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Admittedly, they did kinda defend each other, and the immortal bastard seemed to panic when I made him attack his partner, but beyond that I don't really know. If he was ordered too, maybe. In the report, the Kakuzu guy did stop his attack immediately the first time when ordered by his superior, seems pretty loyal to 'em."

"Kakashi sent me a similar assessment," Tsunade agreed nodding her head. "You have your orders, dismissed."

"Understood," Shikamaru murmured. The young man turned on his heel and left, shadow closing the door behind him.

Shizune waited a moment so that the young man was beyond earshot before asking. "Is it wise to task him with leading the watch crew?"

"The immortal Akatsuki is buried in his clan's land and Shikamaru has first-hand experience with the Akatsuki's abilities," Tsunade answered and leaned back in her chair. Blonde brows arched. "Why, do you doubt him?"

Shizune shook her head that she didn't. Shikamaru had appeared lazy in his youth, but he was shaping up to be a promising shinobi. She did not doubt his intelligence or abilities in the slightest, but the boy had taken Asuma's loss hard. She hated to see that he'd taken up his deceased sensei's smoking habit out of remembrance. Technically, Shikamaru had avenged his sensei's death, but it didn't do well to stew over past tragedy. She worried about the toll guarding the grave might place on the young man's psyche.

"Asuma's passing has been difficult, I worry." She confessed.

"I know, you always do," Tsunade pointed out, giving her a sideways glance.

Shizune paused. Although she considered her concern valid, her mistress's logic was sound too. She realized expressing her apprehension wouldn't change either Tsunade's mind or Shikamaru's should she approach him. No, she had seen his eyes. The young man wouldn't relinquish his guarding duty, not when his eyes were filled with so much hate. Shikamaru had understood the implication of the method used to defeat the Akatsuki, and he was now the immortal's keeper, just as he had planned. She hoped the duty Shikamaru had burdened himself with wouldn't crush him in the end.

"So, we continue searching then?" Shizune prompted.

"Yes, I doubt our runaway could have gotten far in his condition," Tsunade answered, painted nail skimming the rim of the sake bottle before picking it up by it's thin-necked and pouring herself another drink. Shizune nodded, recalling the horrific internal and external damage the autopsy report had detailed. "We'll find the bastard," her mistress promised, "and this time he'll stay on that slab for good."

Despite the Godaime's words, days of searching turned into weeks without any result. Eventually, the humid summer gave way to a balmy autumn. The leaves turned brilliant shades of crimson, yellow, and orange before falling, marking the transition into winter. As the seasons passed hardly a trace of the missing Akatsuki was discovered, but his immortal partner remained locked in the dirt, undisturbed as the dead.

Other concerns arose; there were more Akatsuki members at large, more people who threatened to destroy all that they held dear. As the months gathered, war among the hidden villages and the Akatsuki seemed inevitable. Although the escaped Akatsuki was not forgotten, the searches were called off and the manpower put to better use: alliances had to be formed, borders defended, troops sent to the impending battlefield.

Still, every so often Shikamaru would arrive at the Hokage's office. His reports were always identical. The grave remained unchanged. No matter how much time passed or how often he uttered the same information, Shizune never saw the hatred in those dark eyes burn out.

* * *

><p>Notes<p>

1. I used Tsunade's title Godaime Hokage as two separate, interchange titles. Is that okay?

2. Ninja microscopes.

3. I'm basing Kakuzu's powers loosely off Futakuchi-onna folklore.

4. Shikamaru will make more appearances, unsure about the rest of Konoha.

5. Hidan is going to appear next chapter-when it's writen...


End file.
